Unbreakable Vows
by h4lfpr1nce
Summary: Harry has people he loves dearly, but despairs that he willnever be able to care for anyone in a non-platonic way. Until one fateful night.  I suck at summaries, just read it. horray for slash. yummy.
1. Discovery

**Harry and Draco belong together. You know it's true. I rated this M because, though it isn't slash yet, it will be in the (hopefully very near) future.**

**Enjoy :) and review please!**

It took Harry a long time to realize what he felt towards Cho Chang wasn't love. It was simply an admiration of beauty. He looked at her as he would a flower or a snowflake: something to marvel at but not to mourn when its beauty fades or when it can't stop crying over its dead boyfriend.

When he left after their argument in Madam Puddifoot's that fateful day, he was only angry because he was quite over all the problems that seemed to go along with being her boyfriend. He was quite over her in general. Really, who messed up a disarming charm, even if she was nervous? It was Harry's go-to spell, the one he could remember if he forgot everything else, and it had killed him a little inside to see it mangled by Cho's pretty lips. And that crying. Honestly, the girl had only gone out with Cedric for a few months and didn't seem like she was that enamored with him for any reason other than his good looks. He'd begun to suspect it was merely a desperate, ugly cry for attention and didn't want to deal with it anymore.

Afterwards, everyone had asked him if he was okay. _Why shouldn't I be?_ he had thought, _It's just a breakup._ He began to understand it wasn't _just a breakup_ as the year progressed. As those around him came together and split apart, it actually affected them deeply. It killed them inside, sometimes. He never felt like that, even though he'd had such a crush on Cho. He figured he wasn't truly in love with her, but if that wasn't love then what was?

It was when Ron started to explain a very complicated set of feelings about Hermione to him that he began to feel empty. Thinking she was the most wonderful thing in the world? A little twist in his gut when she came near? He'd never felt like that before, ever. He began to seriously doubt his capability to love.

Dumbledore said love was Harry's most important power, something Voldemort didn't possess, so he must have some capability. Over the summer he spent getting bullied by his aunt, uncle, and cousin, he delved into his thoughts rather than face the reality of his dismal situation. He decided that it was only non-platonic love he couldn't experience. After all, he deeply loved Hermione, Ron, and the other Weasleys, and he had loved Sirius. Otherwise he wouldn't care for them so deeply. Otherwise it wouldn't hurt so much when they died.

Still, the emptiness grew inside him as he realized a thousand things he would never have. He couldn't help blaming Voldemort for taking away his loving parents and the Dursleys for treating him like a slave rather than family. He felt somehow that the missing piece of him was related to missing parental affection, even if that wasn't true.

As he started school again, thoughts of what he was missing began nagging on him more and more and he felt his mental condition deteriorating as though the emptiness would swallow him up. He began being irritable and snapping at his friends, though he didn't tell them anything. Harry Potter was the Golden Boy. He didn't have insecurities or faults. If he did, he put on a brave face and dealt with them himself. The Boy Who Lived was a martyr. The Boy Who Lived faced things alone.

It was one day, during the first onset of winter, that he experienced something. He just couldn't tell if that something should fill him with hope or bury him beneath an insurmountable swell of despair.

He had just spent several arduous hours scrubbing cauldrons clean (without magic, of course) as punishment for accidentally tracking mud in after herbology. He silently cursed Filch and his bloody cat. He was quite adept in cleaning, being trained in it by Aunt Petunia quite thoroughly over the years, but the cauldrons were not just dirty. They had Merlin-knows-what cemented onto their insides by magic, and Harry had barely gotten through half of them before he couldn't take any more. His shoulders felt like they had been pulled apart from scrubbing.

He didn't normally like to use the prefect's bathroom since the mermaid in there always caused him to have unpleasant flashbacks to the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, but he had permission as Quidditch captain to use it. Seeing how much his muscles ached, he felt like nothing more than a good long soak he couldn't get elsewhere. He decided to risk bad memories and set off towards the fifth floor, hoping the mermaid was asleep.

It was well after curfew, so he hidden under his invisibility cloak as he traversed the halls. He was actually glad of the late hour. He was far less likely to be disturbed, that way. He reached the entrance and muttered the password.

"Squeaky clean."

The portal swung open silently and closed behind him in the same way after he stepped through. He was going to remove the cloak but something told him not to. It was that sense of self preservation, one of the many qualities possessed that was esteemed by Slytherin House. He walked cautiously forward, still invisible, with every sense alert.

The first thing he noticed was an odd, humid texture to the air. It felt unnaturally warm and moist. Then he smelled a familiar combination of perfumes and realized that someone must be taking a bath. He turned to leave, but was suddenly filled with a voracious curiosity. Who could be using the bath at that hour?

He walked closer, through thin layers of steam, and his breath caught at what he saw.

Draco Malfoy was laying in the bath with his head tilted upward, eyes closed, and he was shining.

Soft candlelight flickered against his pale skin, licking along it in beautiful golden patterns. Malfoy's skin shone with a satiny glow and he reflected the light in a silvery radiance just as the moon reflects the sun. It was beautiful in a tangible way, true, but for some reason Harry didn't simply want to admire it as he did with all other freshly discovered things of beauty. He was filled with an inexplicable desire to get closer and followed it without thinking, treading lightly and silently.

He got up close to Malfoy and saw that any bubbles had long since popped, leaving clear rippling water in their wake. The rest of Draco's body, though submerged, held the same luminosity as his face and hair. Harry noted with interest that it was the body of a dancer: all lithe muscle with no fat covering it. It was silky-looking and perfectly smooth, and filled Harry with a desire to run his fingers all over it. He marveled at its texture and pristine beauty. For the first time in Harry's short yet eventful life, he wanted to spoil something exquisite and leave his mark on it.

He reached for the pale boy, hand outstretched, wanting to brush it over the skin that tempted him. Luckily, his hasty step forward caused and audible creak. Malfoy whipped around with his wand out, ready to curse anything and everything he saw. For Harry, the movement seemed to break the enchantment he was under. He realized his position with horror and raced out of the room, collapsing against the wall a little ways down the hall.

He'd heard the other boys in the dormitory speak of it often enough to recognize the burning inside him. He could easily identify it as lust. The thought of it brought joyful tears to his eyes, because it seemed like that feeling was the key to everything he was missing. It was the ability to form a romantic relationship with somebody. He thought about futures and happy families and grandchildren and…

He went pale.

The only person he had ever felt that towards, in sixteen years of life, was Draco Malfoy. Malfoy, his eternal enemy, considered equivalent in his mind to Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange. Malfoy, son of a known Death Eater, under suspicion for being one himself.

Malfoy, a boy.

The tears of joy changed to despair and he raced off towards his dormitory. He fell into bed without disturbing the four other boys sleeping there, tossing and turning all night without any reprieve in the form of slumber from his thoughts.


	2. Ignoring It

**For some reason I can't help but make the chapters of this story unbelievably short. Maybe (hopefully) they will get longer. Still nothing I would need the M rating for in this chapter, but I assure you it will be coming. I hate it when Drarry fics just jump into it without the two characters getting over their clear aversions for each other. It just bothers me. Anyway,**

**enjoy :) and please review.**

After a sleepless night of worry and deliberation, he'd decided to ignore it. He was going to pretend it never existed in the first place. That way he didn't have to concern himself with the implications of his late-night rendezvous and the new feeling he had discovered because of it. He wrote over his memory as best he could without using magic, trying to pretend he had returned directly to the dormitory and fallen into a deep sleep.

He walked down to breakfast silently though Ron and Hermione were chatting quietly beside him. He knew they were wary of his moods and weren't as free around him as they used to be. He couldn't help but feel sad that he hadn't noticed it before. He resolved deep within himself to rectify the situation as soon as possible, but not at that moment. He was decidedly occupied with the undertaking of _not_ thinking about certain things. He was so involved in these thoughts that he didn't notice as he walked right into someone.

His hand automatically reached out to steady that person, but his hands were slapped away after only a few seconds.

"Watch it, Potter!" Malfoy said haughtily, holding Harry in the full force of his ice-blue eyes. Harry felt a thrill nothing like fear run through him and could only stare as Malfoy stalked away with his nose turned up. As he clenched his fists around the fading warmth from Malfoy's shoulders, he wondered how he had ever considered that way of walking pretentious. For some reason he could only describe it as filled with utter confidence and, as such, unbelievably endearing.

"Oy!" Ron's sharp voice brought Harry firmly back to reality, "Harry, mate, are you just gonna to let 'im talk to you like that? He's Malfoy, for Merlin's sake!"

"What? Sorry, I was distracted," he explained somewhat sheepishly, the goofy smile he knew he wore fading into a sharp frown. _That wasn't ignoring, you prat. That wasn't anything like ignoring!_

Hemione seemed to notice the frown and asked with concern, "Harry, was it your scar again? Because you know you're supposed to-"

"No, it wasn't my scar! And I know I'm supposed to, but I can't help it! And you know what? Sometimes it's bloody useful!" He snapped irritably, taking it out on her though he was really only mad at himself. Why couldn't he just ignore it?

"Harry, he can use it to _get_ to you! Just like last year! And last year Sirius ended up-"

"I _know_ Hermione!" He said, stalking off ahead of them to breakfast. He did not need to be reminded that his godfather had ended up dead because Voldemort had manipulated him with his visions. Just like he didn't need to be reminded that Cedric had only died because Harry had insisted they both grab the cup at the same time. Just like he didn't need to be reminded that his parents had died for him and died simply because he existed. He could blame Voldemort, but he somehow always blamed himself. Guilt over them ate away at him daily.

At breakfast and in a foul mood, purposefully ignoring Ron and Hermione sitting next to him, Harry found himself glancing over at the Slytherin table more than once.

_Stop it!_ He reprimanded himself once again, going back to stewing in his own irritability and petulance. Invariably, though, both his eyes and his thoughts would wander back over toward Malfoy. A light smile played on his lips every time that happened and he thought about Malfoy's perfect lips, tinted the lightest rosy shade imaginable. He thought about how soft the milk white skin looked today, how it shone under the clear light from the ceiling reflecting the gorgeous day, and how he would very much like to touch it. He felt warmth colour his cheeks as he thought about these things, but suddenly Malfoy's eyes snapped up as though he had been called, as though he could sense Harry's gaze on him.

Their eyes met for one enthralling moment. Draco's eyes were filled with neither the contempt nor the disgust they normally wore in Harry's presence, only shock and behind that a feverish curiosity. Harry had no idea what emotion his own emerald eyes were displaying, but felt at the moment his eyes met Malfoy's that he was plunged into ice water, which was somehow not at all unpleasant.

What was he doing? He tore his vision away from Malfoy, cheeks now coloured solely from embarrassment, and stood up suddenly. He didn't care about anyone's reaction as he rushed out of the Great Hall. He knew all eyes must have been on him, but he couldn't stand that feeling of deep connection he got when he locked gazes with Malfoy one moment longer without going insane. He would've done something truly mad, like going up to the Slytherin prefect and kissing him. He walked swiftly back to the Gryffindor common rooms. He hugged a pillow in front of the roaring fire and groaned in confusion. After only a few hours it had been made clear to him that ignoring wasn't going to work. He didn't have any idea how he was going to get through the next month before Christmas started and hopefully Malfoy would leave. He didn't know how he was going to get through the next week. He didn't know how he was going to get through the rest of the day. He didn't even know how he was going to get through his first class, which was Potions with Slytherin.

* * *

Draco Malfoy couldn't move an inch. He was held captive by a pair of green eyes filled with what he could only describe as desire. He didn't know what to think; his mind wasn't working anyway. As Potter finally broke the hold he had over Draco's thoughts, Draco felt a heat rise to his cheeks just under his skin, though of course it wasn't fool enough to actually be seen. A Malfoy did not display trivial manifestations of emotion such as blushing. It was very much beneath him. Still, he felt he heat there and amidst the rumour and speculation spreading wildly through the student body at why the great Harry Potter had fled, he lifted a hand up to his cheeks softly.

"What?" he whispered softly and incredulously as the blaze he felt slowly fizzled out. _What just happened?_


End file.
